


Semper Fidelis

by livin_in_my_head_2



Category: Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Spideypool - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-06-17 12:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livin_in_my_head_2/pseuds/livin_in_my_head_2
Summary: When journalist Peter Parker is assigned to interview famous military personnel Wade Wilson, a culmination of hardships combines into one evening of reckless drinking, which ends with Peter in Wade's hotel room. After waking up the next morning, painfully hungover and unsure of how to write his article, Peter must navigate the tumulous waters of dating a man who is bound to return to the military.//Semper Fidelis: the Marine Corps motto, meaning "Always faithful."





	1. Author's Note

I'm going to make this short and sweet. Just some basic info about this work

  * **I will not tolerate any negative or hurtful comments exchanged** in the comments section below. Take your anti-ship or anti-gay or anti-whatever rage out on me, but **I will not allow attacking other readers.**


  * **I'm totally fine if you ship either of these characters with someone else!** However, **please don't request any fics that are not Spideypool** , and try to just enjoy this story for what it is :)


  * Feel free to **advertise other Spideypool works you've read or written!** I am always looking for more fanfics to waste my nights on lol


  * **Updates may be slow and irregular.** That's because fanfiction is a side hobby for me and will always come second to original writing, family, and schoolwork. However, **I will try to update each weekend.**


  * **I don't write smut or non-con**. Romantic scenes might get a little intense or suggestive, hence the teen rating, but never smutty and NEVER nonconsensual.



On a less serious note...

  * This is my second Spideypool fic! Read my first fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773055/chapters/34166303).
  * I have a [Tumblr](https://livin-in-my-head.tumblr.com/) where you can request shorter fics, headcanons, or one-shots!



I do sincerely hope that you enjoy this fic, and if you're a recurring fan, your support means the absolute world to me!! Enjoy :)


	2. The Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find my Tumblr here: https://livin-in-my-head.tumblr.com/  
> I'll be posting shorter fics as well as sneak peaks at new full-length fics on my blog, so be sure to follow it!

It’s not a very important interview, but that doesn’t really matter to Peter. After all, everyone has been telling him for the past three weeks - ever since he received the assignment - that he’s lucky to be so inexperienced and yet have landed this job.

Honestly, though, it’s been a pain in the ass. Before this month, Peter knew jack shit about the military. Now he feels like he knows enough to last him a lifetime. He’s watched countless videos, read countless articles, of the man he is supposed to interview. Wade Wilson. Famed sniper.

What that means, essentially, is he’s good at killing people. Freakishly good. And the people whose brains he blows out are the so-called enemy, so Wilson’s regarded as a hero instead of a murderer.

Peter isn’t so sure.

He’s also not exactly sure what’s wrong with the guy’s face. And arms. And skin in general. It’s pockmarked, scarred, tight and shiny. The scars sweep over his skull, rendering him hairless. The best Peter can guess is that the guy’s a burn victim, but the skin deformity is one of the reasons Wilson has snuck into mainstream media - neither he nor the military has confirmed that he got his scars on-duty and he clams up about the topic. People like to speculate at tragic pasts, snowball until they hit something of substance. 

Peter, on the other hand, plans on avoiding the topic of Wade’s scars at all costs. Get in, ask a few questions, collect the paycheck. That’s his job. Nothing more, nothing less.

Peter sighs, drumming his pen against his thigh. His aunt bought it for him when he landed his job at the magazine and it has long since run out of ink - but he can’t bear to let it go. Most of the time, it rests in his pocket, a small reminder of home no matter where his career may take him.

Currently, it has taken him to the broad expanse of California via the not-so-broad cabin of a commercial aircraft. God, Peter hates planes.

As they hit a spot of turbulence, Peter grips the armrests tightly, knuckles flushing white. The small, elderly woman sitting next to him turns with a sympathetic smile.

“Scared of flying, sweetheart?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m scared per se,” Peter replies tightly, “but I don’t love ‘em.”

She chuckles as though he has said something funny.

*

Peter is one of the first people out of the airplane, which means that for the most part, he escapes the crushing crowd of commuters. One coffee later, Peter’s nerves are settled.

He has an hour until he can check into his hotel and tomorrow evening is the interview. Until then, Los Angeles is his to explore.

Not that he will. In fact, he’ll probably stay holed up in his hotel room until the interview, studying Wilson, trying to come up with more questions, stressing about the job. Peter likes to say that he functions well under stress, but the truth is, he’s an utter mess. His sixth sense always going off, that damn spider bite flaring with red-hot worry despite having seemed to heal years ago. Almost ten years with the thing and it won’t leave him alone.

Peter rubs the side of his hand, tracing the almost invisible scar absentmindedly as he hurries out to the taxi, backpack secure on his back. He never brings a suitcase with him - he’s somewhat of a minimalist.

His hotel is swanky - no expense spared for an interview with this man whom Peter is convinced he won’t get along with -  and his room lives up to expectations and then some. It’s easily the size of Aunt May’s apartment back in New York City, and Peter cringes at the thought of how much it must have costed. Despite the reasonable income he now makes - journalism is a surprisingly lucrative business if the game is played right - the penny-pinching child within him never fails to make an appearance. One too many takeout Thanksgivings and nearly present-less Christmases have stuck with Peter well into his adult life.

Not that he blames his aunt. In fact, he owes her everything. He just wishes he could…relax. Appreciate his life instead of feeling guilty about it.

He sighs, drops his backpack on the bed. Opens up the mini fridge and grabs a water. Everything is on his employer’s credit card and yet he can’t bring himself to grab anything but a goddamn water.

Peter flops backward onto the bed, not even bothering to open his greedy indulgence (seriously, what kind of asshole charges for something essential to life? He’ll never understand it). He’s developing a massive headache and he isn’t even sure why.

It was probably the airplane. God, he hates airplanes.

*

The next day passes quicker than he expects. He doesn’t even bother leaving his room for breakfast or lunch, instead having the meals delivered.

Everything is on his employer’s credit card. He has got to learn how to splurge.

He watches the clock. There are three hours until his interview.

Two.

One.

He climbs out of bed, freshens up in record time. His audio recorder is clutched in one hand, his printed questions in the other. In his pocket, Aunt May’s empty pen weighs heavy, a reminder of home.

The taxi flies down the streets of Los Angeles at breakneck speed. Peter clings onto the door with all his might, feeling as though he is flirting with death the entire ride. At the end, the gasping journalist hands the satisfied taxi driver an exorbitant amount for the short ride, and climbs out of the terrifying metal contraption.

The interview has been arranged in a small bar. Again, military personnel are not what would be called “famous” more than “intriguing for certain crowds and the occasional sympathetic housewife or her wannabe husband.”

It’s still a few hours until dinner and in a place like Los Angeles, a hole-in-the-wall bar isn’t where many people will be spending their afternoons. No, the millenials populating this city will be strolling the streets, lining up for auditions, hooking up with friends who they will keep as “just friends” for as long as possible before their eventual tragic fallout.

This bar is for the few middle-aged, sour-faced citizens, those who feel the unstoppable onslaught of the youth and can do nothing to hinder their liberating progress - so they linger here instead, muttering into their drinks about “these damn kids” and growing progressively fatter, older, angrier.

Wade Wilson stands out, although Peter expected nothing less from a scarred sniper. He nurses his drink in the corner booth, eyes hooded.

Peter takes a steadying breath and strides over to the booth, sliding into the seat across from Wilson. The man straightens, takes a sip of his whisky.

“Wade Wilson, I assume?” Peter extends a hand, and Wade accepts it. His grip is ironclad, but not in a  _ I could take you in a fight _ way. There is nothing intimidating about this handshake other than the man behind it.

“That’s me.”

“Peter Parker. Nice to meet you.” Peter sets the audio recorder down on the table. “Just in case I miss anything,” he explains in response to Wade’s questioning glance.

“Alright. Shoot.” Wade leans back, finger tracing the rim of his drink.

“Okay.” Peter turns on the recorder, clears his throat, straightens his paper and readies his (working) pen. “What drove you to pursue a military career?”

“My family.”

“Oh, was your father in the military?”

“No, my father was a piece of shit. My parents blew all our money on hard drugs and liquor so I had no way to pay for education or even feed myself. The military is the fastest, least illegal way out for young, dumb kids with no sense of self-preservation - and it just happened to work out for me.”

Peter stares at him for a moment. The way he delivered that answer - freakishly calm, as if he hadn’t just relayed a tragic backstory coupled with some self-deprecating jabs for good measure - has thrown him completely off track. He clears his throat again and moves on.

“How long do you plan on continuing with your current career?”

“As long as they’ll have me,” Wade replies with an easy smile. “This life is what I know and it’s what I’m good at. I don’t think I’d do the transition into a ‘conventional’ lifestyle very well.”

“At what point did you realize that this is what you wanted to do with your life?”

“I’m not really sure. It was the culmination of a lot of little things, coupled with financial stress and the realization that helping innocent people - I like it. I like it a lot.”

Although Wade’s words are kind, sincere, they seem too rehearsed. As if Wade somehow knows Peter’s questions and has prepared his answers. Which is impossible, Peter wrote some of these last night - but it’s still unnerving, feeling as though this man is reading his mind.

“What does it take to do what you do?”

“Uh, discipline. And a hell of a lot of training. It took me years to get to where I am, and I think that’s due to commitment and hard work.”

“And finally, what advice would you give to young men and women considering joining the military?”

“Weigh all your options. Seriously consider all the - the forks in the road to your future. Are you financially able to attend college? Where do you see yourself in ten years? Why do you  _ really _ want to join the military? But sometimes, it just comes down to gut feelings.” Wade meets Peter’s eyes. Something in his gaze causes goosebumps to rise on the reporter’s forearms.

“Sometimes, this life chooses you,” Wade finishes. “Sometimes, you don’t get much of a say.”

Peter stares at him for a second before Wade sits back and slurps his whiskey, breaking the mood. Peter hurries to reach forward and turn off the recorder.

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting with you - ”

“Woah, hey. Why don’t you hang out for a little bit?”

Peter hesitates. He can’t remember company policy about this. He can’t even remember if they  _ have _ company policy about this.

“Come on. You got anywhere better to be?”

Peter sinks back into the seat. “You got me there. I guess I can spare a couple hours.”

*

Peter’s been through some shit. When you tragically lose your parents at a young age, after which you are sent to live with your aunt and uncle, and then watch your uncle get fatally shot in an alleyway, henceforth forced to live paycheck-to-paycheck with your fraying aunt while you desperately try to make something of yourself so you don’t end up on the streets…you can have some impulse control problems.

Such as drinking.

So Peter knocks back shot after shot, sips beer after beer. Towards the end, he can sense Wade watching him out of the corner of his eye. Peter would like to imagine that the sniper’s impressed.

Wade is also getting drunk.

After enough years of drinking, Peter knows when to stop. There’s a sweet spot - after his judgement has flown out the window but before he’s so hammered that he’ll still be drunk tomorrow morning. It’s the kind of drunk that results in embarrassing texts to exes and slurred karaoke attempts, the kind of drunk that holds onto those precious memories behind a thick layer of alcohol for you to cringe at in the morning.

Right now, however, Peter’s exes couldn’t be further from his mind, and this particular bar doesn’t hold a damning karaoke machine. There’s just him and Wade, who is actually a pretty great guy to get drunk with. Almost without realizing what he’s doing, Peter has entered flirt mode - leaning forward as Wade retells military stories, placing a hand on the other man’s knee as he laughs at his jokes.

And he knows it’s working.

There’s still that small part of his brain, the part that hasn’t yet been blitzed by beer. That little part is screaming at him to stop, to slow down before he ruins this job, the most lucrative of his career. The vast majority of his brain, however, is focusing on Wade’s wisecracks, interesting stories, and… _ damn _ , he’s muscular. Peter shouldn’t be surprised - he doubts there are such things as flabby active-duty soldiers - but seeing as Wade’s scars don’t bother him, the body underneath is a nice bonus.

Before he really knows what’s happening, he and Wade are staggering out of the restaurant, laughing at something. Wade manages to flag down a taxi and passes the man an insane amount of money before even telling him the address of the hotel - not Peter’s. His.

Peter knows what this means. He can’t stop a grin from spreading over his face.

They arrive at the hotel and Wade helps Peter into the elevator. He has to hand it to the man - even when he’s ragingly drunk, his balance is scary good.  _ Maybe that’s why he’s such a good sniper _ . Peter hopes he can remember enough details so that, come tomorrow, he has more to flesh out his article.

Then they’re at Wade’s hotel room, Wade is grinning down at him with this adorable lopsided smile, and Peter is thinking,  _ To hell with the article _ .

Wade fumbles unsuccessfully with the keycard for a moment before suddenly swooping down and kissing Peter, almost frantically. His lips are hot, burning. Peter’s mouth opens slightly and he presses himself flush against Wade, who groans deep in his throat and finally manages to unlock the door.

Peter kicks the door shut behind them as Wade breaks away momentarily to tug off his shirt. Then his fingers are at Peter’s shirt, fumbling desperately with the buttons, never breaking the kiss, which has Peter’s head spinning. Off comes the shirt, with everything else quickly following, and they are falling into bed.

Peter will not return to his hotel room, not tonight.

*

When Peter wakes up, everything hurts.

And he’s not wearing any pants. Or a shirt. Or anything, for that matter.

“Morning.” A gravelly voice. It takes Peter a moment to place it, and then a moment longer to remember what happened.

And then he is royally furious with himself, sitting up, stumbling out of bed, struggling into his clothes and ignoring the pounding behind his temples.

He manages to get his jeans on before a gentle hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back down to the bed. “Woah, hey. Take it slow.” He is passed a water bottle and squints up at Wade, who shoots him a cheeky grin before continuing around the hotel room, searching for something.

Peter immediately guzzles half of the water bottle and waits several minutes, until he is sure that he is not going to throw up. Then he watches Wade before asking in a voice made rough by sleep, “What are you looking for?”

“My keycard. I’m checking out of the hotel this afternoon and need to return it.” He sighs with victory as he straightens, brandishing the keycard in one hand. As he returns it to his wallet, he glances over his shoulder at Peter, his tone casual. “How much of last night do you remember?”

“All of it. Hopefully.” Peter gasps suddenly, surging into an upright position. “ _ Shit _ .”

“What? Are you supposed to be somewhere?”

“Later today I’m supposed to FaceTime my boss, play him the audio recording and read him my notes.” Peter hurries over to the full-length mirror and groans as his fears are confirmed. Peppering his neck and collarbones are hickeys, blaring red and purple.

“Sorry,” Wade replies, not sounding especially sorry. “How much of this is going in the article?”

“None of it,” Peter snaps. “God, I’m sorry.” He runs a hand over his face, trying desperately to remember. Had he made the first move, or had Wade? It doesn’t matter. He was supposed to be professional, and yet he had gotten ragingly drunk.  _ Hookup _ drunk. He has never been the type for casual hookups. What’s  _ happening  _ to him?

“Don’t be sorry.” Wade crosses the room and kisses the back of Peter’s neck, bending down to do so. It’s a surprisingly sweet gesture that makes Peter swallow his I’m-not-looking-for-a-relationship speech. It’s insanely awkward and he’s only ever had to use it twice before, so he’s strangely glad that he’s not about to use it with Wade.

“It’s almost noon. Wanna go get lunch?” Wade tugs on a shirt and Peter is momentarily distracted by Wade’s arm muscles.

“Sure,” he hears himself reply.

_ What the hell am I doing? _


	3. Out on the Town

They choose lunch at a bustling Panera’s and wait in an annoyingly long line before sitting and continuing to wait an annoyingly long time for their food. Peter isn’t really surprised, though - it is Los Angeles, after all. He hasn’t seen a business that isn’t chock full of people despite the services they’re advertising.

Wade doesn’t even seem to notice all the stares they’re getting, but Peter is red-hot with all the attention. He knows that it’s not directed as him, but as the gazes land on Wade, they eventually trickle down to Peter. He isn’t sure what most people are assuming - although, since it is the west coast, he thinks it’s safe to assume that  _ boyfriends _ is jumping to a lot of people’s minds.

_ I’m not looking for anything serious _ . He isn’t sure when he’ll get the words out, but he’s sure he will. Maybe after lunch. During lunch seems too cruel.

Wade orders confidently despite the cashier’s shocked stare, and glances over his shoulder at Peter with a smile. “Whaddya want, Pete?” he asks jovially.

_ I’m not looking for anything serious _ .

Wade picks a small booth. When a baby at the table next to them stares at the man with glazed eyes, he waggles his fingers at her. The infant’s mother smiles at Wade with a strained expression that screams,  _ I’m trying too hard. _

_ I’m not looking for anything serious _ .

The food arrives and Wade digs into his panini. “How’s yours?” he asks Peter, words muffled by a mouthful of food. His cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk’s. He’s very different from the man Peter remembers from yesterday: first, a hooded sniper and then, a powerful, dominating man.

_ I’m not looking for anything serious _ .

When they finish with lunch, Wade stands and leaves the restaurant with little preamble. Peter follows him quickly, worried at this sudden change in mood.

“Could we go somewhere a little more private?” Wade asks. He is staring into the distance with an unreadable expression, so Peter doesn’t feel that he wants a repeat of last night.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s only so long I can be stared at like a fucking circus freak.”

“You were putting on a good show in there,” Peter replies. “You seemed totally okay.”

“Well, you have to. Otherwise people will come up to you and ask you what’s wrong, what happened, or worse, they’ll pity you from across the room, sneaking glances at you when they think you’re not looking.” Wade shakes his head slightly. His fingers are fiddling with the air at his sides like he’s looking for something to grip. 

Peter resists the urge to grab his hand. The tight fury underlying Wade’s words frightens him. He believed Wade’s casual act in Panera - how is he supposed to tell what’s real and what’s not with him?

_ It won’t matter in a few hours _ , he reminds himself.  _ Soon, Wade will check out of his hotel room and go to wherever snipers go when they’re on temporary leave. You will fly back to New York, write a killer article, get paid, and try to forget him _ .

Suddenly, that seems like the least appealing thing in the world.

Peter slips his hand into Wade’s before he can again talk himself out of it. Wade glances down at their linked fingers in confusion.

“I know you’re leaving in a few hours,” Peter murmurs, “but maybe we can make the most of that time?”

A slow smile spreads over Wade’s face. “I seriously misread you, Parker.”

“How so?”

“Honestly, I had you pegged as a self-righteous New Yorker just looking to bag a job. I’m guessing you have morality issues with war and thus decided ahead of time that you wouldn’t like me, and yet something in your past drives you to get compulsively drunk and hook up with near strangers.” Wade’s brow creases slightly as he looks at him. “I’d like to find out what.”

Peter stares at him for a second, shocked. “I didn’t expect you to…”

“To be able to read you so well?” Wade’s lips quirk upwards. “It’s my superpower.”

Peter returns the smile, which quickly dims as he considers telling Wade his entire fucked-up past.

“How about we go explore the city?” he asks instead. He’s not ready for Wade’s sympathy. All he’s been faced with for years is, “Oh, I’m so sorry,” and, “That must be terrible.” He’s completely sick of it.

Wade bobs his head. “That sounds great.”

*

They don’t let go of each other’s hands. Not as they hail a taxi, not as they arrive Hollywood Walk of Fame, not as they begin strolling over the plaques of the famous. Occasionally, one of them will point out a star belonging to a celebrity they either like or hate, and Peter quickly discovers that he and Wade have much in common when it comes to celebrity preferences.

When they’re not talking about the famed, they’re chatting about everything and anything. It turns out that Wade grew up in New York City, too, in a small, much more impoverished neighborhood. Wade doesn’t dwell on his past, and Peter is glad about this for many reasons. One, he doesn’t want to discuss his own past, and two, from the shadows of stories Wade has shared with him, Peter doesn’t want to discuss Wade’s, either. They’re young, they’re in Los Angeles, and they’re doing something stupid by being together. Talking about such depressing matters would ruin what sense of normalcy they’re trying to capture.

Trains of thought such as that one lead Peter back to one question he hasn’t been able to answer:  _ Why am I doing this? _ If it had been a one-night-stand, that would be one thing. But here he is, holding hands and chatting with a man he just met, acting like they’ve been together for years. He’s never been one for instant romantic attraction, let alone public displays of affection with a virtual stranger. But Peter can’t seem to reconcile the word “stranger” with Wade Wilson. He feels as though he’s known the man all his life.

_ And you thought you were going to hate him _ .

Peter idly checks the time and realizes that it’s almost dinnertime. They’ve been walking around for hours and he didn’t even realize, he was having such a good time.

His plane leaves in five hours. The thought fills him with a strange dread, a dread that is not even a result of his flight-related nerves.

He would have liked to see where this went with Wade. That’s the truth, the truth that he has been trying desperately to avoid all day long.

They end up in a McDonald’s, although neither of them discussed getting dinner before they walked into the fast food joint, and both of them could afford to eat at a much nicer place.

“What do you want?” Wade murmurs as they walk up to the counter.

“I can get my own,” Peter replies automatically. He may be cheap, but he still has his pride.

“No, I got it. Really,” Wade insists when Peter raises his eyebrows.

“Thanks, I guess. I’ll have a cheeseburger.”

Soon, they are seated in a suspiciously sticky booth, their wrapped meals resting on a table marred by small pools of mysterious liquid. Peter gingerly unwraps his burger and begins eating. Wade does the same with his chicken nuggets.

They eat in silence for a few minutes before Wade asks, “So you’re going home tonight?”

There’s something in his voice, careful and guarded. It makes Peter weirdly hopeful, for what, he’s not sure.

He’s about to reply that yes, his plane leaves tonight. Then he looks at Wade, bright blue eyes watching him closely, chicken nuggets half devoured. He thinks about how shitty the last few years of his life have been, leading up to this journalism job, how he’s done nothing that he’s really, truly proud of. He’s lived his life so carefully, planned out to the minute, leaving no room for recklessness.

He hates his life, if he’s being fully honest with himself, and maybe this is his breaking point.

Peter takes a deep breath and says a silent, solid  _ Fuck you _ to the monotony of his life. He looks Wade steadily in the eyes.

“No. I’m here for the rest of the week.”

Wade visibly perks up, back straightening, hunched shoulders relaxing. “Really? Same here.”

Peter grins at him and Wade returns the smile.

Yes. This was the right thing to do.

*

They stay in McDonald’s long after the last bites of their meals, talking and laughing, until the streets grow dark and the crowds somehow turn even younger, even more hopeful, even more wild.

Wade gestures out the window to the raucous pedestrians flooding the sidewalks. “What do you say we join them?”

Peter grins slowly and stands, accepting Wade’s offered arm as they leave the fast-food restaurant behind.

The crowds are truly insane. Peter is forced to press right up against Wade as they move, clinging to the larger man’s arm like a lifeline so he doesn’t get swept away by the millennial riptide.

When Wade tugs him out of the crowd and into an alleyway slight, kissing him fiercely, it utterly takes Peter aback. He quickly gets accustomed to it, however, and pushes up onto his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around Wade’s neck.

This kiss is different from the kisses of last night. Those were frantic, desperate, as if they had something to prove. This is slow and languid, sweet and gentle. Wade grips Peter’s hips lightly and Peter feels as if he is floating. He’s lightheaded and might start shaking soon but he couldn’t be happier.

He’s supposed to be at the airport right now, trying to calm his nerves and waiting for his seating section to be called to board. He’s supposed to be in New York City tomorrow, jetlagged and irritable, to write his article and send it to his boss.

His phone, in his pocket, dings with a message from his boss. Peter texted him in McDonald’s, telling him that he was getting a later flight without explanation. He knows he’s in some deep shit, but with Wade’s strong, comforting form in front of him, his feather-light kisses brushing Peter’s lips, Peter can’t find it in himself to care.


	4. L.A. Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I procrastinated and went on vacation and got writer's block but...here it is! Chapter three!  
> ...  
> Please don't hate me

Finally, they pull away, breathing hard from the pure adrenaline of what they’re doing. Wade smiles down at Peter, but something in his gaze is hooded.

Peter summons his courage and whispers into the emptiness between them, “What is this?”

Wade looks as if he is about to feign confusion before sighing, dropping his gaze to the concrete. “I don’t know,” he replies honestly.

That is not what Peter wanted to hear. He isn’t sure what would have been better, but he can feel uncertainty creeping in, about to swallow him whole.

_ It was fun while it lasted. Now I have to go back to New York City and see if I still have a job _ .

“I know that I like you a lot,” Wade starts, and Peter is taken aback. He had expected the “I don’t know” to be the beginning of a painful and awkward breakup, if “breakup” is even the right word for their situation.

“I like you, too,” he hurries to reply when Wade falls silent for a moment. But the other man was simply collecting his thoughts, it seems, because he forges onward.

“I fly out in a few days, and I know we barely know each other, but as stupid and cliche as it sounds, I really feel a connection with you, Peter. I don’t really know what that means and I can’t say I’m good at relationships…”

Peter isn’t, either. He usually only dates people who he’s physically attracted to, disregarding their personalities and dumping them whenever the situation gets too difficult. Ironically, the question that usually sends him running for the hills was the same one he has just asked Wade. He’s officially become his own vision of a nightmare boyfriend.

“What if we don’t call it dating?” he asks carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“What if we just…kept things casual? We don’t have to have the commitment or pressure of a relationship but we can still have…” He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Wade’s lips. “This.”

Wade grins. “I like that idea. Let’s do that.”

Peter laughs, a quiet sound that gets caught in his throat. “Wade Wilson,” he whispers, “I want to hear about your life. Every fucked-up detail. And this is all off the record, by the way.”

*

Wade has a fucked-up past. That’s the condensed version.

Sure, Peter knew that Wade’s family life had been chaotic. He learned that much in the interview. But the details…

It’s the kind of abuse you hear about on the news, gasping at the horrible pictures as you listen to a monotone newscaster. It’s the kind of abuse that you read about online, shaking your head sadly at the disgusting nature of human beings. It’s the kind of abuse that results in children too broken to live into adulthood. Peter has no idea how Wade’s still functioning.

But here he is, sitting across from Peter in the corner of a dark bar, Peter straining to hear his hushed words over the thumping music.

“I’m sorry.” It’s a shitty thing to say - Peter knows that much from his own experiences with receiving the phrase - but it’s the only thing he can think to say. He’s never met someone as troubled as Wade - he has no idea how to react with the information he’s been entrusted with. He immediately thinks that maybe he should apologizing for apologizing, but that would result in an endless spiral, and they don’t have the time.

Wade just shrugs as if being horrifically emotionally scarred is no big deal. “I’ve moved past it,” he says.

“How?” Peter asks before he can think better of it.

“I doubt that I’ve gotten you so starstruck that you’ve forgotten what I do for a living,” Wade replies dryly, the corners of his mouth quirking into a small smile. “Well, surprise. I’m the soldier all those anti-war college kids warn you about. The bloodthirsty, sadistic fuck who kills because he’s angry. At everything. All the time.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that, either. Wade is proving to be a bigger puzzle than he ever could have imagined. He has no idea why he’s persisting with this, but he does know that there’s more to Wade, even more levels of complexity and pain, and for whatever reason, he’s determined to find them.

“Are you angry at me?”

Wade didn’t expect Peter to ask that question, that’s for sure. Maybe he expected Peter to focus on the self-deprecating comments, and sure, Peter plans to get to those. But he’s curious.

“No,” Wade answers after a moment of deliberation. “It sounds stupid, but I feel…calmer when I’m with you. I don’t know - not as angry, I guess.”

Peter can’t hide the smile that splits his face. “See, I don’t think you’re as tough and brutal as you seem,” he tells Wade, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat.

“Shhh,” Wade urges with a grin, glancing around with mock concern. “I can’t have you tearing up my street cred like that!”

Peter laughs and stands, holding out a hand to help Wade up. Wade accepts it and Peter gestures with a flourish at the dance floor. “May I have this dance?”

Wade looks at the tight crowd of strangers with more than a little apprehension. Peter tugs his hand and, when Wade looks at him, widens his eyes and sticks out his bottom lip. “Please?”

“Well, shit,” Wade murmurs with a chuckle. “Can’t resist that.”

Luckily, the club’s too dark for the pair to attract many stares. The only illumination, aside from the lights at the bar, comes from neon spotlights that ripple over the crowd, never settling on one particular area for more than a split second.

Wade’s obviously never done this before, or if he has, it was too long ago for him to remember how. Peter doesn’t dance very often either, but friends and boyfriends have roped him into it on several occasions in the past.

So neither of them really know what they’re doing, but Peter starts to get into the groove of the music. It would help if he was a little drunk, but the thought is repulsive after last night. He still remembers the mind-numbing headache from this morning.

He places his forearms on Wade’s shoulders, lazily leaning against him. Wade carefully puts his hands on his hips, as if afraid that he’ll break Peter. Peter smiles up at him and his grip tightens slightly.

Peter can feel the music in his ribs, the steady beat through the soles of his feet. It doesn’t take Wade long before he catches on and while this might not be proper dancing, it’s all they can manage while being slowly crushed on all sides by young, drunk couples.

Wade leans down and kisses Peter, and Peter feels as though he is flying. He presses himself closer to Wade and nearly passes out when the man runs his fingers through his hair. It feels like every nerve is on fire, every muscle in his body straining toward Wade.

He feels like he’s intoxicated, or high, or simply just so, so happy he could burst. The feeling of letting go, of losing himself in Wade, is both terrifying and exhilarating.

He’s never felt like this, not with anyone. And for a moment, Peter entertains the possibility of happiness.

*

When Peter wakes up the next morning, he is not greeted with a raging headache and regrets like yesterday. Instead, he’s greeted by Wade holding him close with one arm.

Weak daylight is trickling in through the small gap between the hotel curtains, tossing a rod of golden light across the bed. Wade shifts in his sleep and the rod bucks with the slight rise of the sheets covering his feet.

His head is turned away from Peter, but Peter can just see Wade’s closed eyes and slightly open mouth. He doesn’t want to move too much, though, because he is nestled into Wade’s side and doesn’t want to wake him.

He also doesn’t want to leave this spot. Ever. He could die here, happily.

But, sadly, it is not to be. Wade tries to turn over, but since part of his arm is under Peter’s head, he is jolted awake instead. He flips on his side, eyes bleary with slumber, and gazes lazily at Peter.

“Hey,” Peter whispers.

“Hey.” It seems as though Wade’s going to fall back asleep, but he sighs and extracts his arm from beneath Peter, sitting upright in bed.

Peter stands and begins getting dressed. This time, they’re in his hotel room, so he has clean clothes.

By the time Wade drags himself out of bed and tugs some pants on, Peter is fully dressed and trying to make his hair do something other than stick in five different directions.

He sees Wade appear in the mirror. The man is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with a faint smile playing across his lips.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Peter asks.

“Could we order something from room service? The last couple of nights have been great and all, but I wasn’t really expecting to do this much partying.”

“You didn’t plan on partying while you were in Los Angeles for a  _ week _ ?” Peter asks incredulously.

“Hey, you’re the one who planned on leaving as soon as you had gotten what you came for.”

“Well, I got what I came for,” Peter replies, sidling over to Wade and wrapping his arms around her waist, “but I didn’t realize I would be getting a bonus, too.”

Wade grins and presses a gentle, lingering kiss on Peter’s lips.

*

The morning is even more amazing than Peter had hoped for. When their room service breakfasts - bagels - arrive, they eat them in bed, the sheets bunched around their legs, trying their hardest not to spill crumbs but failing miserably. It’s difficult to control the food in your mouth when you’re laughing and trying not to choke at the same time.

Finally, long after both bagels have been devoured, Peter sighs and stretches, standing. He walks over to the window and tugs open the curtains.

Wade recoils from the harsh, ensuing light. “Jesus. Warning, please.” But there’s a teasing note in his voice, no real irritation.

Peter grins and returns to bed, hopping up onto the mattress and sitting cross-legged in front of Wade, who’s sprawled out like he owns the place. “What do you want to do today?” he asks.

“Actually, I think we need to talk,” Wade replies slowly.

Peter can almost feel his heart stop at the words. He knows what follows, he’s practically memorized the monologue that he himself has delivered on many occasions. He wants to shut Wade up, silence him with a kiss, keep him trapped in this wonderful, horrible moment where the next words out of his mouth aren’t set in stone.

“I leave in four days. And it’s not like I’m just flying across the country - I’m flying overseas. To the Middle East. I’m about to go on a two-year tour. And yeah, I can come back to America for a few days here or there, but that’s not really the point. The point is that you’ll almost be  _ thirty  _ by the time I get back from this tour, and that doesn’t even mean I’m back for good. I love what I do, and it’s the only form of therapy that’s worked for me over the years, so I really don’t think I’ll be able to quit when I get back. And I don’t get the impression that you’re looking for anything serious - I really think what we’re doing has just spiraled out of control. I’ve loved spending this time with you, I really have, but I think we should - ”

“Wait,” Peter blurts out desperately. Wade closes his mouth abruptly.

Everything he’s saying makes sense. Their lives aren’t compatible, no matter how much Peter wants them to be. But Peter can’t listen to him say  _ that _ . He can’t hear those terrible words, not from Wade. There’s something different about him, something special. It’s cliche and stupid and risky - but Peter doesn’t want to lose him, not yet.

“You’re right that I wasn’t really looking for anything long-term,” he started slowly, phrasing his words carefully, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t value this. I understand if you still want to - to end things once this week is over, but I really,  _ really  _ just need a carefree, fun time with someone right now. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who I can really do that with.” Peter bites his lip, looking carefully at Wade. “So…can we have a few more days of carelessness before getting back to the real world?”

It’ll mean more pain for both of them. It’ll mean a higher chance that Peter is so wrapped up in Wade that he won’t be able to recover fully when this is all said and done. But Peter’s willing to take those risks and a thousand more.

Wade drops his gaze to the blankets, thinking for a moment. The air in the room is thick with tension. Peter holds his breath hopefully.

“Fine,” Wade finally whispers. “Yes. I want to spend the rest of the week with you.”

Peter lets out a shaky breath of relief and kisses Wade before he can say anything else. All his doubts and fears vanish with the feeling of Wade’s lips on his.

They have to make the most of this week.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *IMPORTANT*  
> Would you all like me to continue weekly updates with shorter chapters or bi-weekly updates with longer chapters? Lemme know!!
> 
> The reason I won't be able to update as I had originally intended is, unfortunately, school. It starts in three days and I'm already ready for summer. So my motivation's gonna be out the window, meaning that I'll be writing less on all my projects. Just let me know what you would prefer because I am going to continue updates!!
> 
> (This is already a shorter chapter and for that, I apologize.)

Thursday - Peter’s third day with Wade - rises slowly and lazily, as do the occupants of Peter’s bed.

Today, Peter is the first to rise. His hand is resting on Wade’s bare chest and he feels the rise and fall as the man’s lungs expand and contract. It is oddly soothing.

Soon, thirst overwhelms him and he slides out of bed, so entangled with Wade that the movement wakes him up as well.

Peter gets some water from the bathroom sink, gulping it down before glancing at the time. It is much earlier than yesterday - and no hangover this time, which is a bonus. They could even make the hotel’s breakfast, if they hurry.

“What do you want to do today?” he calls to Wade as he returns to the bedroom.

Wade is already on his phone, scrolling through a website’s list of LA attractions. A slow grin spreads over his face.

“How does Disneyland sound?”

Peter instinctively laughs at the absurdity of it, two grown men going to Disneyland. “I mean, I’ve never been…”

“I’ve never been to  _ any _ amusement park.”

“Same here.”

“Well, now we  _ have _ to go.”

Peter only has to think for a moment before the same slow smile overtakes him and he nods his head eagerly. “Sure. Yes. Let’s go to Disneyland!”

*

Peter grew up in New York. He was riding the subway alone by the time he was ten and knew how to navigate Times Square as soon as he could walk. Crowds should not surprise him.

And still the sheer  _ mass _ of people in Disneyland staggers him.

“Holy crap,” he breathes as the sounds and sights overtake him.

“The happiest place in the world,” Wade reminds him, and by the radiant faces of everyone else in this part of the park, nobody disagrees.

Peter is actually surprised that there aren’t more children. Sure, there are an insane amount of them, ranging from infancy to college-age - climbing on the fake boulders, pushing their siblings around, talking excitedly to their parents - but there’s also a group of grown women dressed as princesses, taking selfies in front of a gift shop that Peter guesses is only the first of many. And over there it looks like there’s a double date going on - two college-age couples, walking side-by-side deeper into the park. That’s just the beginning of a surprising amount of solo adult groups and pairings.

He doesn’t immediately see any gay couples, but he’s holding out hope.

Wade has a map, which, when he expands it, is about as big as he is. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an overstatement, but the sheer amount of information on the map is, again, staggering. Peter senses that there are many more surprises in store for them deeper in the park.

Hotels, restaurants, upcoming attractions, plays, shows - this place truly has it all. And it’s all described on this map.

Wade balances on one leg so he can use his other knee to spread out the map. Peter rests a hand on his shoulder to steady him, still taking in everything around them.

“Okay,” Wade says after just a couple minutes. “I have got the day planned out.”

Peter stares at him incredulously. “What, I don’t get a say in this?”

“No. It’ll all be a surprise. In honor of your first amusement park.”

“It’s your first, too!”

“Yeah, well, this is how I want to spend it. Bossing you around and being in charge of everything.”

Peter rolls his eyes but he can’t hide a smile. “Fine. Lead the way.”

*

Hours pass in the blink of an eye. At first, Peter is self-conscious about the fact that he is a  _ fully grown man  _ in Disneyland. The more teenagers and adults they see, however, the calmer he gets. There is even a group of businessmen, only identifiable by their matching work-issued polos, excitedly chattering about a ride they just got off of.

Peter is utterly taken aback by how the rides incorporate technology as well as mechanics, and for half of the time in between rides, he tries to figure out how they function. He’s always had a head for science.

The other half, he’s focusing purely on Wade. Wade, who doesn’t scream on a rollercoaster, just grins so wide you’d expect his face to split in two. Wade, who makes an hour-long wait in line enjoyable by cooing at all the little kids and regaling Peter with hilarious stories. Wade, who continues to buy things for Peter despite his protests of, “This is going to be hell to take home on the airplane!”

On one rollercoaster, Peter notices that Wade keeps glancing over at him, a secret smile playing with his lips. “What?” he finally asks, exasperated, but Wade just shakes his head, still smiling.

Then the ride starts and before Peter can react, Wade grabs him and kisses him without abandon. A bright light flares against Peter’s closed eyelids and then Wade releases him, right as the rollercoaster picks up speed and goes sailing over a hill.

After the ride, Wade tugs Peter excitedly over to a small kiosk on the way out of the ride, and Peter finally realizes what happened. Wade had figured out where the camera would be and had gotten a picture of the two of them kissing.

As Wade buys the picture, Peter can’t stop smiling and blushing and generally being a complete mess. The picture, he has to admit, is adorable. It’s obvious Wade instigated the kiss by how high Peter’s eyebrows are, but Peter is smiling slightly, and they both look insanely happy.

Not to mention that the faces of the people sitting behind them are priceless. One girl is watching Wade and Peter, eyes shining and a grin spread across her face. The man sitting next to her is whooping something into the air with his eyes closed and his hands up. The kids sitting in the back row are already screaming in anticipation of the hill, caught mid-terror.

Wade passes Peter the picture. For once, Peter doesn’t complain about the souvenir.

But, by far, the highlight of their day is when they see a small girl in a pink princess dress dashing around the park, looking at flowers and talking to strangers who always talk so sweetly back to her. Behind her, her two fathers rush to catch up to her, apologizing to people that she bothers and talking happily with her about the park.

They catch Peter and Wade staring and offer them a tentative smile. Peter returns it easily and Wade grabs his hand, holding onto it firmly, like it’s a lifeline.

_ Yes _ , Peter thinks as they head to a small seafood restaurant in the park.  _ Today was a good day _ .

*

The third night that they sleep together, they don’t actually sleep together.

Wade settles into bed, pyjamas on, and gestures for Peter to join him. They’re back in Wade’s hotel room, having silently adopted a turn system.

Peter lies down next to him, nestled in the crook of his arm. “Thanks for taking me to Disneyland,” he whispers. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, me, too. Sorry I bought you so much stuff. I was just trying to get into it.”

“No, I was pretend complaining. Trust me, I loved everything you got me.”

“What was your favorite ride?”

“Oh, don’t make me choose!” Peter exclaims, feeling the soothing rumble in Wade’s chest as he chuckles.

They’ve only known each other three days, and yet Peter feels like he’s known Wade for ever. Like he’s  _ dated _ Wade forever.

He doesn’t believe in love at first sight. But then again, this wasn’t  _ at first sight _ …There was alcohol involved that first night, and then the next day, Peter had spent with Wade partly out of pity. And yet he had discovered how amazing Wade was - how intelligent and funny and strong despite his screwed-up past.

Peter doesn’t believe in love at first sight. But he does believe in this - whatever this is.


	6. A Call and a Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that I'll be uploading shorter chapters every week instead of longer chapters every few weeks. I think it'll be good to keep consistency and to hold myself accountable to writing. However, I will keep the chapters as long as I can manage!
> 
> I have the ending all figured out so at this point it's just a matter of filling in the final chapters before then.
> 
> Also I think this is my longest chapter in a while which is ironic considering that a) this is the first weekend after school's started and b) I just decided to do shorter chapters. Whoops...

“So why journalism?” Wade asks as they stroll down the street.

“What?” Peter asks, taken aback by the sudden question.

“Why did you decide to become a journalist?” Wade repeats. “You know why I joined the military, but I don’t know why you work for the newspaper.”

“I’m really not sure. I worked for a small local newspaper when I was a teenager. My boss was a nightmare but the pay was good and I liked it. I want to help people by reporting the truth - maybe that’s it.”

“Yeah, you seem like that kind of guy,” Wade replies thoughtfully. “What is it that you report on?”

“Right now I’m at the bottom of the ladder,” Peter admits, a little ashamed. “I don’t get very many big stories. Just smaller, lamer stuff until I can prove myself.”

“Smaller, lamer stuff like me?” Wade asks, a teasing note in his voice.

Peter flushes. “No - I mean - ”

“It’s fine. I know an emotionally damaged sniper isn’t really front-page news. It’s a wonder anyone cares about me at all.”

“You’ve had the most confirmed kills out of any sniper in U.S. history. That’s kind of a big deal,” Peter reminds him.

Wade frowns, shrugging. “I don’t think people should be quite as hung up on the numbers. I think if they thought about what they really meant, they wouldn’t be as impressed.”

Peter thinks with embarrassment of his judgement of Wade, prior to meeting him. “Maybe people shouldn’t look past the numbers,” he counters quietly. “Maybe admiration’s fine.”

Wade smiles slightly. “So deep. So poetic.”

Peter shoves him, but he grins as well.

As they continue down the street in silence, his mind begins to drift. This is his fourth day with Wade. They only have three more. The time is slipping through his fingers like sand.

He doesn’t want to lose Wade. He wishes more than anything that Wade won’t leave the country, that he could take him back to New York, introduce him to Aunt May and all his friends. He wants to see where this goes.

Because truth is, Peter had expected this to be an infatuation, nothing more. He had thought this was a slight rebellion, a cry out against the tame life he had created for himself. Sleeping with a scarred, brutal sniper? It’s a far cry from his status quo.

But here they are, holding hands and walking down the street, ignoring the stares they get, as if they’ve been doing this for  _ months _ . They haven’t even been doing it for four full days.

And Peter’s quickly realizing that Wade isn’t just a “fuck you” to his boring life. Wade is something more. He  _ wants  _ Wade to be something more.

He wants to be with Wade.

And that’s making him seriously reexamine his life.

What’s keeping him in New York City? If he hadn’t gotten a journalist job, he could have gone anywhere. Maybe he feels like he can’t leave Aunt May behind, but truthfully, she’s the one who pushes him the farthest out of his comfort zone. She’s even carefully broached the topic, once or twice, asking if he would want to try living somewhere else. At first, he thought she was asking out of concern that he would leave her, before he realized that she was asking because she wanted him to leave. Not because she didn’t love him but because she saw something inside of him he didn’t.

Peter’s starting to see that something. He imagines returning to New York City, typing up the interview and turning it into his boss, trying to climb up the company ladder, continuing in the same career he has had since he was a teenager. Is he a journalist because he enjoys it, or is that all a lie? 

Is he a journalist because that’s the easy way out?

He thinks of all his failed relationships in the past, limited as they were, both in content and duration. Already, this thing he has with Wade is healthier than those - and again,  _ four days _ .

A plan slips into his head, piggybacking off of his whirlwind of thoughts, sneaking up on him and shocking him to his core. It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. It would never work.

Unless it did.

“I’ve gotta make a call,” Peter hears himself say, already pulling out his phone. He feels like he’s watching himself from above, torn between shouting to stop and egging him on.

He doesn’t know if this is the right thing to do, but he has to try.

“To who?” Wade asks, confused.

“To whom,” Peter corrects absentmindedly, shooting him a cheeky grin. “I just need to check in with my boss.” It’s not a complete lie. He  _ is  _ calling his boss.

Wade shrugs. “Okay.” 

They pass a Starbucks as Peter is tapping away frantically on his phone and Wade doubles back, pointing at the storefront. “Want anything?”

Peter nods and gives him his order. He remains outside as Wade strides into the cafe.

His phone rings…rings…

And finally, the man picks up.

“Hello?”

“How did you get me the interview with Wade Wilson?”

“Good to hear from you, too, Peter.” His boss is a jovial man, a far cry from the man he worked for in his youth.

“Sorry. Hi. How did you get me this interview?”

“Why, is there a problem?”

Peter sighs, glancing through the glass window into the Starbucks. Wade is ordering from the barista, a genuine smile on his face. The teenage girl is trying her best to act normal, faced with Wade’s scars. He makes a joke and her stiff smile eases as she laughs. Peter can tell it’s real.

“No,” he replies slowly. “No, there’s no problem. I just need to ask you a favor.”

*

When Wade returns with the coffees, he finds a brooding Peter leaning against a lamppost.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, handing the journalist a coffee.

“Nothing,” Peter replies a little too quickly, plastering on a smile that is a little too bright. He is already feeling the consequences of his actions. He can only hope that he’s doing the right thing.

_ Please, Wade Wilson - please be worth it _ .

*

That night, they go once again to a bar. Wade might put on a confident face during the day, but his true self really emerges at night, when the shadows give him a chance of normalcy.

When they are finally too exhausted and Peter is too drunk to keep dancing - Wade drank just as much as he did, but his size is giving him the advantage - they stumble out of the club, hanging off one another and laughing at nothing.

They are almost at the end of the street when they hear something shouted after them. Peter can’t make out what the man said and turns to find an inebriated figure stumbling for them. He feels Wade tense next to him, but his alcohol-addled brain raises a hand in greeting to this mystery man.

Then the man repeats himself and Peter feels all sobered up.

“Faggots!”

Wade lets go of Peter, who stumbles a little trying to stand on his own. “What?” he asks, his voice dangerously low. Peter feels a small stab of fear.

The man doesn’t seem to have the same reaction. “Faggots,” he repeats, with less volume but just as much conviction.

“That’s what I thought you’d said,” Wade murmured, stepping forward until he and the man are standing nearly toe to toe. Peter isn’t sure what Wade’s about to do, but something about the hard, unfamiliar set of the man’s shoulders give him a pretty good idea.

Sure enough, Wade winds back and socks the man in the jaw, quick as a flash.

Peter has punched exactly one person, and that was his friend when they both got drunk and said things they would later come to regret. His punch had been sloppy and unpracticed and it had hurt like hell - his knuckles had been bruised and tender for days. Wade’s punch had far more power behind it, and he could almost feel a ghost of sympathy pain on his own hand, but Wade doesn’t even flinch.

The man stumbles backward with a cry, turning his face to the side with the impact. Then he turns slowly back toward Wade, grinning. His nose is bleeding and so is something in his mouth.

He lunges at Wade. Wade ducks his head and hits him like they’re playing football, not beating the shit out of each other on a Los Angeles street corner. Peter hurries after them as Wade tackles the man into a shadowy alleyway.

Peter can’t make out exactly what’s happening - alcohol combined with darkness isn’t doing wonders for his vision - but he can tell that Wade’s standing above the man, who has curled into a little ball.

And Wade’s just kicking him, winding back and kicking him in the ribs and stomach over and over again. Peter cries out, a wordless plea, and rounds the scene so he can face Wade.

A ray of moonlight is illuminating Wade’s face, just enough for Peter to see someone unfamiliar there.

He grabs Wade’s shoulders, desperate, and Wade turns toward him with a movement so fast and violent that Peter flinches backward. His foot catches on something and he falls, his tailbone painfully colliding with concrete. He hisses in pain and looks plaintively up at Wade.

Wade is staring down at him with something akin to horror on his features. He’s stopped kicking the man, who is groaning and rolling around. Peter can’t tell if he’s seriously injured. He’d be shocked if he wasn’t.

He keeps staring at Wade, cold dread seeping over him. Sure, Wade was violent - but he had thought that that part of him was compartmentalized, shoved in the back of his mind for when he truly needed to use it. All this man had had to do was use a slur and Wade had attacked him like he was an enemy on the battlefield.

Wade’s expression had returned to normal, but Peter still felt like he was looking at a complete stranger.

Wade walks over to Peter and offers him a hand. His eyes are hooded. Peter accepts it and stands.

They look down at the man for a second before Peter pulls out his phone.

“I’ll call 911.”

Wade nods and begins walking out of the alleyway. Peter hurries after him, checking the street name at the corner.

After he’s placed the call, he turns to look at Wade, prepared to say - well, he isn’t sure, but  _ something _ .

And Wade’s crying. Silently sobbing, tears running unabashedly down his face, collecting at his chin before dripping onto his shirt.

Peter isn’t sure how to make him feel better. Peter isn’t even sure who he really is.

So, heart aching, he stays silent.


	7. Post Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not uploading last week!! I was out of the state so I didn't have time to write :( But I'm back!! Also, we're very close to the end... ;) Don't worry, I have other ideas for Spideypool fanfics!

They go back to Wade’s hotel room, getting a few strange looks as they walk inside. After all, Wade has stopped crying but his face is still red and tear-streaked, and Peter’s sure he doesn’t look too happy, either.

They’re uncomfortably silent in the elevator and awkwardly quiet until they’re inside the hotel room. Then Wade immediately retreats to the bathroom. Peter hears the quiet click of the lock shutting him out.

He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, delicately, as if he isn’t supposed to be there. He isn’t sure that he is.

He’s heard of men who go to war and come back seeming just the same, only to be stripped away in moments of hardship back to whatever lurking weapon the army had turned them into. Wade has killed people - Peter can’t keep ignoring that. And he’s been killing for a long time. His weapon reflexes are probably a lot closer to the surface than Peter can even imagine.

Suddenly, he remembers the phone call he had made earlier, when he was confident and sure of what he was doing. Sure of Wade.

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

He stands up and crosses the room to the window, looking out at the throngs of late-night partygoers. Taking deep, even breaths to control his panic, Peter thinks things through.

He has to talk to Wade. The phone call’s been made. His decision is final. He’s just going to have to make this work.

He raps gently on the bathroom door. “Wade? Can you come out here, please?”

There’s silence for a few seconds before Wade asks , voice thick and broken, “Why?”

“I want to talk about this.”

The bathroom door slowly opens. Peter opens his mouth, prepared to make something up on the spot - he hasn’t really thought this through - when Wade starts to speak.

“Sometimes I don’t know why I’m shooting them.”

“What?”

“Sometimes I don’t know why I’m shooting a target. The government just gives me a face and a place They know they don’t even have to tell me why anymore. I just shoot them because I’m so fucking broken that I don’t know how to do anything else. I don’t even view them as humans. That’s how much of a fucking monster I am.”

“Don’t say that.” Peter hadn’t intended the words to sound so angry, but they spilled out as such. “Don’t  _ ever  _ call yourself a monster. Wade, you went through some terrible shit and now you’re taking these horrible urges  _ that have been forced into you _ and you’re using them to help our country. You’re not killing or taking advantage of innocent people, but you still recognize that you have this problem and you’re constantly tearing yourself down for it. I don’t know what it’s like to live inside your head. I wish I did, but I’m sure it can be hell.”

Somehow, his words are hurting Wade more. Peter feels a flash of panic as Wade squeezes his eyes shut and purses his lips. He is on the verge of crying again and is doing everything to hold himself together.

“I think this was a mistake.”

All the air rushes out of Peter’s lungs and he stares for a second before whispering a strangled, “ _ What?” _

“I think this - us” - Wade gestures between them - “was a mistake. I think you should go.” His words, which started as a whisper, are hardening, sharpening with deadly edges, each one finding their way directly into Peter’s heart.

But Peter knows he doesn’t mean them. He’s got that look in his eyes, that glazed look he got in the alleyway, but Peter realizes now that that doesn’t mean he’s about to lose his shit. It means that some part of his brain, some emotional,  _ human _ part of his brain, has been groomed to shut down in situations like these. He’s not sure when that training happened - in the army or somewhere earlier, when Wade was abused beyond belief - but it’s there, and right now, it’s forcing Wade to lie to Peter.

Peter isn’t fooled. He can hear the silent scream for help.

“I’m not leaving,” he replies calmly.

“Peter - ”

“Let’s sleep on it. If you still want to break up with me in the morning, then break up with me.” The fact that he just referred to it as a breakup - that he’s now viewing this as a real relationship - is a blip on his forced-calm consciousness.

He reaches out and takes Wade’s elbow, and sees some of the glaze retreating.

Peter leads Wade over to the bed and helps him in, tugging off his shoes and shirt for him. There is nothing sexual about this - Wade is too broken for Peter to feel any of that.

He lies down in bed beside Wade, curling around him, lacing their legs together. Wade tenses at first before slowly relaxing, letting out a shaking sigh.

Peter kisses the back of his neck, gently. “We’re gonna get through this,” he whispered. “We’re going to be okay.”

He doesn’t know if Wade hears him. His breathing has finally steadied and slowed.

*

Peter is the first to wake up, and he gently extracts himself from Wade, who is sleeping too deeply to be woken by the movement.

He orders breakfast via room service and does a quick mental count of the days remaining. This is the third-to-last. On the final, his entire life changes.

He doesn’t want to think about that too much. Not right now.

Wade rises as room service arrives and when he gets back from freshening up in the bathroom, Peter quietly passes him a plate, beginning to work on his own. He can sense Wade’s gaze on him but keeps his own eyes on his breakfast, giving the man time to work through whatever he’s thinking. He feels a ball of nervousness in the pit of his stomach - what if that wasn’t broken-Wade speaking last night? What if Wade really has changed his mind and given up on the possibility of them?

Well, it’s too late for those types of decisions now. The memory of a phone call plays in the back of Peter’s head.

“Why are you still here?” Wade asks, his voice groggy with quickly departing sleep.

Peter senses no malice in the words, so he replies, “Because I want to be.”

Wade laughs, the sound hoarse and thick with last night’s tears. “You’ve seen who I really am and you  _ still _ want to be here?” His voice quiets on the last word and he sounds almost scared. “Why?”

Peter turns to him and decides,  _ fuck it _ . “Because I love you,” he says simply. “Because I know that the man I saw last night, I know he’s not you. Because you’re funny and sweet and strong and so willing to try and be this good person for me that when you fail, you tear yourself to shreds over it.” He hesitates before adding, “Because you need me to love you.”

He can hardly believe what he’s seeing - Wade is  _ blushing _ , grinning like an idiot down at the bedsheets.

Wade places his untouched breakfast carefully on the bedside table and Peter, uncertainly, reaches down to place his on the floor.

Without warning, Wade reaches out and tugs him closer so he can kiss him deeply. Peter can feel the curve of Wade’s lips as he struggles with a smile, and his own bubble of joy explodes in his chest, sending tingles down his arms and legs.

Something changes and the kiss grows more frantic. Wade runs his hands through Peter’s hair, tugging on it slightly, and Peter gasps a little into Wade’s mouth. He feels the other man grin as Wade slides his fingers under his shirt, tracing his hip bones gently and making Peter’s every nerve feel like it’s on fire.

“I love you,” Wade mutters. “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”

Peter’s content to spend the morning in.


	8. The Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I...honestly don't know about this chapter. I think I should have made their time together a little shorter so there wasn't as much waiting around between plot points. Sorry if this is kinda lackluster - it's been a really tough week.

Things are different. Peter isn’t going to deny that. But, for the most part, they’re different in a good way. A happy way.

He finally works up the courage to call his aunt, phoning her while Wade is in the bathroom. It takes a little bit of lying to convince her that this is a plan he’s been mulling over for weeks instead of days, but he’s so sure of what he’s going to do that it could very well have been months.

Wade is happier than Peter has ever seen him - not that their “ever” is very long yet. It’s a good look on him. When Peter reenters the room, a little flushed from the intensity of the phone call, the palpable end of an era, Wade’s humming along to some song under his breath, gathering his discarded clothing from all corners of the bedroom, tossing the articles into a pile in his suitcase. Whatever doubts Peter had vanish.

“Let’s go see a movie,” Wade declares, turning to face Peter with his arms spread wide. “When in Rome!”

Peter just laughs, laughs because he’s filled with such elation it’s hardly leaving room for him to breathe.

*

It doesn’t matter now. None of it does. Not Wade’s scars, not Peter’s romantic inexperience, not the idea of a thousand men like the one from last night, cowering behind daylight, waiting for the freeing darkness to spew their hate.

It doesn’t matter because for the first time in his life, Peter is sure of his future - every aspect of it. Well, that may be a stretch, but it’s certainly an improvement over whatever half-assed idea of mediocrity he had in his head before.

He had always felt like he was meant for something more. Now he finally feels like he’s finding it.

The movie is one of the newest, and the theater is crowded. They work their way into the back corner, as isolated as possible from the crowd, Wade precariously balancing a large popcorn in one hand and a soda in the other, trailing small pieces of popcorn in his wake.

They squeeze into their seats just as the trailers for upcoming movies begin and the theater darkens. By some miracle, the seat next to Peter is empty, and the two teenage girls sitting in the seats in front of them are so transfixed on the movie that they couldn’t care less what the men behind them are doing or saying.

Peter finds himself strangely engrossed in the movie, an action film with an intriguing plot line. Wade grips his hand tightly through the whole thing, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into the back of it. They share the popcorn and the soda, although it’s not Peter’s favorite, so he lets Wade finish it off.

It feels wonderfully, agonizingly  _ normal _ .

The two hours fly and soon, they are filing out of the movie theater, following the crowd of people like they’re sheep being herded through a narrow pasture gate. It is decidedly easier to maneuver this time, given that the soda and popcorn are empty.

Outside, the sun is shining brightly and Peter is instantly met with a wave of heat. He sighs instinctively, letting the air conditioned cold from the movie theater lift from his bones.

“Did you like it?” Wade asks.

“Yeah, I actually really did.”

“What was your favorite part?”

As they launched into a discussion of the movie, picking it apart and analyzing the characters, they take random turns and visit random shops. The afternoon is one filled with laughter and joy, and Peter couldn’t ask for anything else.

The day is just about perfect.

*

The second-to-last day dawns with the buzzing of Peter’s phone.

Peter rises with a groan, and Wade just rolls back over and falls back asleep. The former grabs his phone off the nightstand and hurries into the hallway to answer it, having the presence of mind to grab a keycard on the way out.

It’s his boss.

“Why are you calling me so early in the morning?” Peter asks, his voice still thick with sleep.

“It’s noon, Peter. Well, I guess it’s nine where you are, but I still don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about the time difference. Sorry. Did you need something?”

“Yes. I wanted to discuss what we talked about a few days ago.”

It’s like someone has dunked a bucket of cold water over Peter. He’s instantly more awake, more alert.

“I thought that was all settled.”

“We’ve had some time to think about it. I called my associate and we talked about it some more. Peter, we believe that you’re making a very rash decision. Now, I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I truly don’t believe this is the best path for you.”

Peter calms a little bit. So this isn’t an authoritative talking to - this is an appeal from a man he has, over the years, come to consider his friend.

“Listen,” he replies quietly, “I appreciate the concern. I really do. But this is my decision and if it’s the wrong one, them I’m going to have to live with the consequences. I seriously think - I  _ feel _ \- that this is right for me. This is the most passionate I’ve been about something since I was a little kid collecting comic books. And I know it might be hard to understand why I’m doing this, but you just have to trust me.”

“Do you fully understand the world you’re walking into?” his boss asked quietly.

“No,” Peter answered truthfully. “And I know I’ll have moments of regret. But I’m not looking for a career like the one I flew out here for - I’m sorry, there’s nothing wrong with you or the company, but it’s just not the right fit for me.”

“Well, you did some wonderful work here, Peter,” his boss murmurs. “We’ll all be sorry to see you go.”

“Thanks,” Peter whispers in reply, before hanging up and reentering the hotel room.

“What was that about?” Wade asks innocently. He’s up and has already changed into fresh clothing.

“Oh, nothing.” Peter tries to smile. “Wrong call.”

*

They go back to Peter’s apartment. Peter needs to start getting his luggage together, since they both leave tomorrow night.

Well, that’s what he tells Wade. Really, he just needs to take a breather.

At his hotel room, he showers. He’s been showering at Wade’s, of course, but there’s something different about showering in the space that is, even just temporarily, his.

The privateness of the shower gives him time to think. He can feel those doubts sneaking in again, the same doubts that have controlled his entire adult life, the same doubts that kept him on a safe, easy, boring path until he found Wade.

He cannot afford to let those doubts back in. He cannot afford to listen to them.

Today is his second-to-last day with Wade. He has to make the most of it.


	9. The Airplane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just rewatched "Deadpool 2" last night and holy fuck you guys I love Deadpool so much  
> **  
> Anyway I'm sorry for the sudden notice but this is THE LAST CHAPTER! I didn't even know it was the last chapter until I started writing it, which is why I didn't warn you guys. Sorry again...but I hope you enjoyed the story thus far and find this a satisfactory ending!

They’ve been trying to make the most of their time so much over the past week that both Peter and Wade decide to spend the day in.

They find some old nineties reruns on TV and laugh at what they used to love. There’s a lot of, “ _ Every  _ girl in my class has that hairdo,” and, “God, I owned  _ that exact  _ sweater.”

After the reruns just get too painful, they switch to movies. Most of them, they only watch for about a half an hour - long enough to make fun of the acting and the dialogue and the premise - before switching.

It is brainless, mind numbing fun. It is exactly what Peter needed.

Eventually, Wade checks the time and finds that it is almost dinnertime. “Wanna go out to dinner?” he asks Peter, who shrugs and nods.

They decide to splurge on a fancier restaurant, although neither of them have nice clothing except what they wore for the interview - and those outfits now smell faintly of stale alcohol and sweat. So they wear their jeans and T-shirts, laughing a little self-consciously at the suits and dresses the other patrons are wearing.

The food is phenomenal, and so is Wade’s company. The two men spend the night joking and storytelling, trying to one-up each other with ridiculousness and shock factors.

They drink just enough to be comfortably tipsy and share several desserts before venturing out into the darkening Los Angeles streets. Wade’s hand tightens on Peter’s and he knows that he is remembering the other night. That horrible man…

Peter tightens his grip back, two quick squeezes, before relaxing and willing Wade to do the same. Eventually, he does.

They stroll through the streets of the city full of hope, and nobody says a thing.

*

The next morning, it takes Peter a second to remember what day it is. When he does remember, it feels like his stomach sinks down to the soles of his feet.

Today is the day they depart.

Wade is already up and getting dressed. His quiet movements must have been what woke Peter.

When he sees that Peter is awake, he smiles gently. Peter can see the pain in his eyes. “Morning. I thought we could go get breakfast and then I need to run back to my hotel room.” He clears his throat. “Pack up.”

Peter stands and dresses silently. He gets his luggage together so he won’t have to spend time doing so later.

“When does your plane leave?” Wade asks.

“Three.”

“Oh.” They only have a few more hours together.

Peter walks over to Wade and grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him close, almost into a kiss. He pulls Wade so close that the man’s eyes close, thinking this is a kiss. They slowly open after a second and they stare at each other silently, until Peter can’t take it anymore and buries his face in Wade’s chest.

Wade’s powerful arms wrap around him, unbelievably gently, and he can feel Wade’s slightly hitching breaths as both of them try not to cry.

Peter pulls away finally, laughing slightly, embarrassed at himself. He won’t look Wade in the eyes until Wade places gentle fingers underneath his chin and lifts Peter’s head, pressing their lips together in a gentle, lingering kiss. Peter tries to memorize everything about it - Wade’s hand gently twining in his hair, the way his mouth opens slightly as he exhales, unwilling to break the kiss.

“Let’s go get breakfast,” Wade finally whispers into the small space between them. Peter can only nod.

*

The pancakes that Peter ordered are churning in his stomach, but he forces himself to keep eating, to pretend nothing is wrong.

He can tell Wade is having a rough time with it, too. He’s been swirling around the pieces of his omlette for the better part of an hour now.

Finally, Peter can’t do it anymore. He sighs and pushes his plate away, checking his phone for the time.

It’s almost noon. They have about an hour before Peter has to leave.

“Do you wanna go back to your hotel room and get packed up?” he asks Wade, who nods, looking relieved to have an excuse not to eat his breakfast.

It only takes him a little bit to get packed up. Peter starts for the hotel door - they still have to return to his hotel so he can check out - but Wade stops him with a plaintive, “Peter? Can we talk?”

_ Oh, this is gonna hurt _ . Peter nods and turns back to Wade, biting his lip.

They sit on the edge of Wade’s bed. The mood is so, so different than it was the first time they were here. It hurts Peter’s heart to think about.

“This has been probably the best week of my life,” Wade admits without preamble, not meeting Peter’s gaze. It leaves Peter freedom to watch Wade, watch his miniscule muscle movements, the way his jaw clenches between statements. “Honestly, Peter, you’re - you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. And I know hindsight’s 20-20, but if I had known…” He shakes his head and sighs. “I would have quit. I wouldn’t have signed up for this tour.”

“If you didn’t sign up for this tour, we never would have met,” Peter reminds him gently.

“God, you’re right. I just - I don’t want to leave.”

“I know. I don’t want to leave, either. And maybe - maybe we shouldn’t have had anything to begin with…”

“What? No! Fuck that! I would have rather have had this week with you and hurt like this rather than never have met you and always feel like something was missing.”

Peter nods, too choked up to speak. He agrees wholeheartedly.

“I’m sorry things couldn’t be different,” he finally manages.

“Me, too,” Wade whispers.

They sat there for awhile, until Peter forces himself to stand. “I have to get going,” he manages. “Do you…do you want to come with?”

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” Wade replies softly. “I don’t think I could take it.”

Peter nods. He understands.

He walks to the door and turns back to look at Wade, fingers ghosting over the doorknob. All he wants to do is to run back to Wade, tell him,  _ promise _ him it’s going to be okay. He looks so broken, sitting there, fingers intertwined tightly.

“Goodbye,” Peter whispers.

Wade stands and crosses the room slowly. He kisses Peter one final time, lingering, and Peter feels a dampness on his cheeks. They’re both crying - he doesn’t know whose tears it was.

Before Wade can say anything else, Peter bolts from the hotel room.

*

**_Wade’s POV_ **

Every movement feels like it’s laced with lead. Wade’s heart and head are heavy, fuzzy. Like he’s never going to be able to think or feel clearly again.

His plane leaves at six, so he leaves a couple hours after Peter does, dressed in his military uniform. He gets the usual stares, the usual thanks for his service. He barely processes any of it.

Somehow, he makes it to the correct gate in time for boarding. Being a uniformed soldier, he’s one of the first to board the plane.

He finds his seat without trouble. He has the window seat and isn’t sure who will be sitting next to him. Wade does, however, notice a note resting on the seat beside him.

He glances around, curiosity getting the best of him, and unfolds the note, scanning its short message quickly.

 

_ Wade - _

_ Save me a seat. _

_ Love, Peter _

 

Wade’s heart begins to beat faster.  _ No _ . There’s no way he was this lucky. There’s no way this is really happening.

Someone moves down the aisle in the opposite direction from the entering passengers. Someone who has been hiding back by the flight attendants.

It’s Peter, grinning as widely as he can.

Wade leaps to his feet, almost hitting his head on the low roof of the airplane, and grabs Peter, holding him close. “What’s going on?” he whispers frantically in his ear.

“I’m going with you, Wade. I’m going with you,” Peter murmurs in reply, giddy happiness infusing his voice.

Wade, trembling, pulls back, still gripping Peter’s shoulders. “What - how?”

“My boss is a veteran. He still had some connections, so he called and found out that they have an open position for a military journalist. Specifically, a military journalist who’s going to be touring with your division.”

“No way,” Wade breaths, a slow smile overtaking his face. Then he pulls Peter back into a hug. “Oh, Peter, thank God.”

When he releases Peter a second time, he notices a flight attendant, smiling widely at them. “Were you in on this?” he asks, just managing to keep his voice from cracking.

She spreads her hands in a  _ maybe, maybe not _ gesture and Wade chuckles, wiping furiously at his eyes.

He and Peter slide into their seats, Wade’s heart still beating a million miles a minute. “I am the luckiest guy in the whole world,” he murmurs.

“I’ll fight you for that title,” Peter whispers, leaning over and kissing his cheek gently.

Wade laughs and leans into Peter, feeling as though he could fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END


End file.
